


A Bloodline Drained

by theonewhofights



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bittersweet, Depression, Gentiana comforts everybody, Lucis doesn't have a ruler, M/M, Post Game, Promptis - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, a bit of Gladnis because I can't stop myself, actually no one has a ruler, also there's a lot of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhofights/pseuds/theonewhofights
Summary: So, there's a problem.With the ending of the Starscourge comes the ending of the three most powerful bloodlines of the world, Aldercapt, Lucis Caelum, and Nox Fleuret. None produced heirs, and thus, their lines have been halted in their tracks. However, the world is in shambles though it has Light, and the people need someone to lead them into the process of rebuilding both themselves and their Kingdoms.And who better to do that than Prompto Argentum, son of one of the most respected people in Niflheim, Gladiolus Amicitia, the renown Shield to a dead King, and Ignis Scientia, blinded yet uncomprehendingly smart?---...the three just wish Noctis was here.





	A Bloodline Drained

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you guys! Ok, first of all, I am so so sorry for not being on top of my other story, 'To Be Tempted'; I'm on vacation and as soon as I get back that sucker will resume. I've been writing this story on the side out of the sadness I felt at the ending of FFXV (so major spoilers ahead, please don't read this if you haven't beaten the game)and I just wanted the story to continue so badly. So, here's (one of) my takes on what happens after.
> 
> ENJOY! <3

Three men stood at the bottom of a long stairwell. It was black, lined with gold, grand and rich. Surprisingly, it remained untouched. Every stair was still perfectly intact.

Of everything, the stairs were alright.

None of the three spoke a word for a long while. The fighting had stopped several minutes ago right when a bright blast of light that had nearly knocked them off of their feet proceeded to vaporize the daemons they'd been tormented by for the past decade. The monsters had simply disintegrated with loud cries and horrified shrieks, almost as if they had emotions. As if they could feel something besides bloodlust. But they were gone now.

Night had not yet changed to day, though they knew that within a few hours it would, yet the sky had lost its sickening green hue and instead had adopted a calm, dark blue sheen. No stars blinked above. Those would most likely take a bit of time to reappear.

And time they needed, to do what they must.

Of the three, there was only one true brunette, his locks the color of chocolate and grown so long he had resorted to tying them back. His eyes, usually a flashing amber, had dulled to a faint copper. He broke the unnatural quiet by heaving both a sigh and his weapon (that was caked almost beyond recognition with blood, organs, and other fluids) over his shoulder. He could no longer dismiss it in a shower of sparks, which meant that he, along with the others, would have to carry their weapons on their person from now on.

The brunette placed a hand on the shoulder of one of his friends. It happened to be the one whom lacked sight he touched (this was no accidental choice, though), and to him that he murmured, "We should...we should remove him, Ignis."

Blind but still utterly deadly, the one named Ignis returned with an equally quiet, "Indeed."

It was another few moments before any of the three made a move to step forward. It was the shortest of them whom stepped first, his bright blonde hair rustling slightly, and it was a step that did not waver. He continued, albeit slowly, and paused once he reached the very first step of the stairs. Turning his head to the others, he did not need to say anything for the remaining two to grasp his silent question. Ignis began to walk as well, his feet deft and sure after so many years of walking without seeing, though he did not protest when the brunette's hand slipped from his shoulder to hold his own.

One and a half minutes was usually the longest time it took to climb the stairs to the throne room (a record set by the late King Regis, for his aging body and cane only enabled him to move so swiftly in his last years), but the three did not reach the top for a solid five. A heaviness had settled upon each of their shoulders as they drew closer to the door; they did not wish to see what was on the opposing side, yet they had to. They had to.

That heaviness was nearly too much to bear once the three made it in front of the grand door. It was several more minutes until they moved again; and again, it was the pale blonde, reaching forward to grasp the cold handle and tug.

It did not move.

He tugged with more force. It remained still. With a voice that cracked slightly with his words, he requested, "Gladio, could you..."

"Yeah." Gladio returned gruffly. The blonde stepped away to make room for the brunette, whom left his large sword at the side of Ignis. Gripping the handle with two hands he pulled with all of his might. When the door remained unmoving, he ground his teeth, dug his toes into the ground, and pulled ever harder. Only as the muscles in his impressive arms began to cramp their protest did it finally move. Inch by inch, the one named Gladio yanked until there was an opening large enough for each of them to pass through comfortably. Once he let go he did not go in; he chose to relieve Ignis of his greatsword and, thinking quickly, he carefully edged it down the back of the jacket of his uniform, letting it slide until it caught in his belt and remained there. Hands available he linked fingers with the blind.

Ignis lead the way, holding a single arm out in front of him to feel the unfamiliar doorway and slid between the door and wall, the large brunette closely behind. The blonde was the last to enter, to ease his body through the small space. He did not wish to enter at all.

The blonde, upon entering the room, closed his eyes. He did not wish to see what was in front of him. He did not want to. He wished to go back to the times when he believed he was a monster himself, he wished to go back to the bone-chilling cold, he wished to be pained by the burning of a barcode ten thousand times, to be told he was worthless one hundred thousand, to be abandoned one million. Anything. Anything if he did not have to look.

It was silent in the throne room. There was no breeze to be had, even with nearly the entire left side of the room crushed to rubble and bared to the elements. Gladio tilted his head upwards anyways. He saw. He did not want to see, but he knew that he must, so he did.

"Prompto." The one named Ignis murmured to the blonde. "Open your eyes."

At the sentence, said man felt his shoulders give a single tremble. A stinging sensation made itself known behind his eyes. He bit his lower lip to disguise its wobble. "I d-don't want to look."

Ignis, whom had been the Advisor to the King, set his hand on Prompto's shoulders. "I know. But I  _cannot_  look. And I need you to see for me."

Such a terrible mixture of emotions stirred in the gunner; anxiousness, sadness, fright, desperation. It made him feel ill. If he had not fought so much all day, if he had not used the energy of the food that he had eaten the night before, he would have turned to the side and been sick. Eyes remaining shut, he shook his head.

"Prompto." His name was spoken softer. Somehow, that made the feelings in him double in their intensity. "Please."

A moment passed. It was a moment that Prompto simply breathed and felt the sickness in him. Felt the emotions, deep in his intestine, knotting them. He would not mind if they decided to reach up and choke the life from him, if he left the world to float in peace. To leave. Let him  _leave_.

Taking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

Prompto Argentum's world froze.

For there, upon the throne, sat Noctis Lucis Caelum. At this distance, he appeared as though he had merely fallen asleep in his chair like he tended to do when he was younger. His body was relaxed, limbs loose. He was still.

Feet. His own. They forced him forward. Because after looking for a second, he could not stop looking; Prompto wanted to tear his eyes away but he could not, feared the only way he would be able was if he tore them from his very sockets. But he could not, and he did not, and he _looked._

Eventually his feet stopped moving. He ended a mere five feet from the man whom sat upon the throne. Closer, Noctis could really be seen. Now one could see that his hair, as black as the night itself, was sweaty and laced with grime. His eyes were closed and his colorless lips were fixed in neither a pout nor slight smile. His skin, oh, his skin that was  _so beautifully_  pale, it had been drained of luster and now appeared an unnatural color, like that of paper or soured milk.

There was one detail about him that could not be missed, nonethematter where eyes chose to train upon Noctis.

It was a sword, intricately carved, gold and silver.

This sword ran right through him and stuck to the back of his royal seat.

Right through Noctis.

Prompto sensed shock ebbing from him; his body started, slowly at first, to tremble as it had a minute ago.

And then - then it was everywhere.

His entire body shook and shook and shook violently and did not stop. His eyes blurred and warmth spilled down his cheeks. His lungs quivered and hitched, his tongue tasted of something like copper-

A horrible sound ripped through the throne room. It was loud, impossibly loud, full of everything bad in the world. It sounded as though someone was being tortured or was awake during the slow removal of their heart. The noise was so atrocious that both Ignis and Gladio began to tremble at it, their own pupils filling with tears, and after several moments Ignis had to turn his back and cover his ears while it continued because he could not handle listening to it any more.

It went on. It could have been hours, minutes, months before Prompto realized that it was emitting from his own mouth, that he had fallen to his knees and had his hands on either side of his head and he was screaming screaming screaming and he did not ever want to stop screaming and he would scream until the day that he lived no more for this was the way that the pain got out.

He did not have breath any longer. Prompto's lungs heaved and did not shriek, but gave harsh sobs that wracked though his body and made him shake again. His tears were fast coming. They did not stop. They did not stop flowing. He wanted the pain to get out of him, please let the pain leave, oh pretty please, let him go, leave through the tears, get out, get out, get out get out get out  _get out get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_  GET OUT GET OUT OF HIM PLEASE IT WAS GOING TO RIP HIM TO PIECES HE WOULD BE TORN APART IT HURTS SO BADLY IT HURTS IT HURTS  **OH**   **PLEASE GET OUT.**

The blonde's crying did not stop. Muscles in his face ached in a way they never had before. He managed to get up, to stumble a few steps, until he was at a pair of feet. Prompto quavered against one of his knees, sought his closed eyes, and said brokenly, " _N-Noctis_."

A faint warmth clung to his body. Prompto crawled upwards, avoiding the sword, and cradled Noctis's face in his hands. Wetness continued to flee his pupils as he tried once more. " _My King_."

Gladio, whom had continued to look, found he could no longer, and turned sideways to lean against Ignis.

The gunner moved closer, body shivering. Using his thumbs, Prompto traced gentle circles underneath closed eyes, whimpering. "Noctis,  _p-please_ , please d-don't go." He watched his King through his tears. The powerful man of Lucian blood felt ever colder beneath his fingertips as the seconds ticked on. "You can't - you can't l-leave y-y-yet,  _please_ , Noctis..."

He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. "No, no...no no no you can't be g-gone, you  _c-can't be gone_ , Noct, you can't be gone, please-" His breath caught. "Don't go, don't go, don't  _go_."

It remained like that for some time. Four men in a disastrous throne room, one departed from the world, three shaking and crying and very much alive. They did not understand, they did not  _get it_ , they faced the realization that they could care if they lived in darkness for several years more (ten long ones had passed already; what was four or five to add to the total?) if that meant that Noctis Lucis Caelum would come back. Come back and give a laugh, come back and moodily reject the vegetables on his plate, come back and sit at a pond for hours on end hoping his fishing line would eventually give a tug.

Alas.

Noctis Lucis Caelum was not coming back.

"Gladiolus." The Advisor murmured. A heavy warmth on his shoulder shifted, shifted further, until dull eyes gazed into bright emeralds that could not see them. "Is...how bad is it?"

"Depends." Gladio lifted a hand to wipe at the tear tracks on his scarred face. His voice, a strong, deep timber, wavered. "There's not...there's not a lot of blood-"

Ignis didn't glean any joy from having to force his closest friend to describe the scene to him, but he needed to know, just as the others needed to see. "How did he pass? Is there any physical evidence besides the blood?"

"Yes..." The Shield paused. Not because he had to glance to see; because he had to gather the courage to say it aloud. "He...a sword is stuck in the middle of him, Iggy."

"I see."

"Yeah." Looking towards the throne, the brunette drew a large breath in before letting it escape him slowly. "Prompto is with him. Should we - should we move them, Ig?"

There came a halt in which the man with green eyes pondered this. It took him two minutes of listening to crying that was not his nor Gladio's to decide. "Yes, Gladio. We should move them."

Prompto could feel the ground falling from beneath him. His sight was terribly blurred, his legs aching from holding his upright position. He whimpered against his King. His beloved King.  _Please don't be gone._

Something touched his head. The blonde disconnected his forehead from Noctis's, and looked to his side. Ignis stood in his line of sight, his gaze sightless but tired, his left hand being held by Gladiolus. "Prompto. You have to get up. We must move him."

A vague panic edged its way into his subconscious amidst the sorrow there. Move him? Get up? He did not understand until the Advisor gave his shoulder a tug. Suddenly he knew, he knew what they wanted him to do, no no no, he couldn't do that, he  _couldn't do that_.

"I can't leave - I can't  _leave him here_ , Ignis." Prompto clung to his King tightly, burying his face in his cold chest. It smelled scarcely of Noctis, like the forest and their tent and something clean and sweet. Fresh tears jumped into his eyes. "I-I-I told him I would n-n-never leave h-him, that's what I said, I p-promised him..."

"C'mon, Blondie." The words, usually carrying a gruff and patronizing tone, were said gently. There came a tug on his shoulder again, stronger this time. "You gotta get up."

Surprised flooded him as he was abruptly yanked upwards. The scent, that lingering warmth, Noctis. He wasn't close any more. He now looked upon his King from a few feet away.

"I told him I w-would be with h-h-him always." The gunner choked. One of his knees was beginning to give out; he hung on to Gladio to steady him. "I-I...he-"

"You were with him, Prompto." Ignis bowed his head. "You were with him until the very end."

The Advisor leaned forwards, felt for the handle of a blade, and pulled.

And that was when Prompto Argentum felt the world collapse.

* * *

It would've been quite a sight if the three could find it in their hearts to appreciate it. Due to the event at hand, however, the three felt only a great sense of relief, as well as a great sense of dread.

Had it been any other occasion, it would've been glorious, beautiful, even; the rising of the sun after ten years of darkness was truly something to behold. Had it been any other occasion, a man with dark brown hair would've run to find someone who lacked sight, picked him up, twirled him around, and kissed him hard on the mouth. The blind would not object to the affection, yet ask what brought it on. The brunette would lead him outside so he could feel the hotness of the sun's rays for himself. And then the two would sink to the ground with their arms around one another, murmuring that finally finally _finally_  it was over.

Had it been any other occasion, a man with blonde hair would've jumped awake from his doze at the window and began screaming his head off. They would not be screams of terror, but ones of glee, ones that would soon turn into laughs and wide smiles. He too would dart around, searching for someone; that someone would already be outside sitting at a lake, eyes open and full of tears. The blonde would find him, would grin, would whisper to him that now the Light was back,  _the Light was back_. And that someone with hair blacker than the night and eyes blazing blue would turn to him and offer a smile so bright that it would steal breath. Then the two would reach for each other, lie tangled in limbs on the dock by the water, and give thanks.

Had it been any other occasion, the four would've called their friends (now older and tougher yet just as full of happiness they were) together and thrown celebration after celebration. The man with hair so dark it was the color of night itself would have taken the throne and helped build his land back into greatness, with three of his closest companions at his side. It would have been a magnificent day.

It  _was_  a magnificent day.

However. The three stopped their task at hand for only a moment to gaze at the sun, even if one of them could not see it. It brought them a bit of peace, knowing that the darkness was no more, but the battle was not over yet.

They needed to lay their King to rest, after all.

The three men looked away from the thing that brought so many others righteous joy. They looked away, sensed the tears gathering inside, and continued to move their dead King to his final resting place.

* * *

Ignis and Gladiolus had been informed, years ago, of where they were to put their King if something ever happened to him. Just the same as Cor and Clarus had been informed before them, when they were being brought up to serve King Regis. And before. And still before that.

The ones whom served King Regis had not gotten the chance to lay his body in the tomb it had been designed to lie in. His body, after being defeated, had been taken by another King that was far older and far more evil; his body had been made to dangle in chains before this corrupt King, a thing of amusement, before it had been released into the hands of Etro for her to deliver to his soul.

Thus, the Tomb of the Father still remained empty. It would remain so forever; if the son of King Regis had been similar to any other King when he died, perhaps it would've been acceptable to lay his body there. But Noctis was the Chosen King, and his Advisor and Shield knew that he belonged only one place.

The Tomb of the True King.

It took a while to find their way there, for the Citadel was still heavily damaged and environmental hazards still caused a bit of trouble. Yet, the closer the three drew to the Tomb (and therefore the deeper into the Citadel, for the Tomb was located in its innermost sanctum), the less damage was laid before their eyes. The three had dismissed it, thinking that it made sense that the inside of the palace would sustain less damage. Their dismissiveness was put to the test when they had to pause in order to figure out how they were to cross a rather large gap where the door had once been; as soon as the Advisor had had the situation described to him, he began to instruct. Before he could finish his second sentence, the air started to hum with magic. The three immediately threw themselves on top of their King's body to protect his unmoving figure. They need not worry, for when they opened their eyes, the floor had been repaired and they could safely cross.

The three did not understand. They understood the  _magic_. They did not understand _why_  the magic had occurred. Weapons could no longer be summoned at their will, they had tried to activate the few spells they had to no avail, and their curatives could no longer be crushed to grant healing effects, for now they had be ingested by the person whom needed it (Gladiolus had figured this one out when attempting to heal one of his arms; when he had crushed the bottle the potion had merely burst and dribbled across his hand. He'd chosen to drink the next one, and his arm was then alright). So, if they could not perform regular magical actions (which made sense, as their magic had been tied to their King), why was there magic here?

Why?

Though now that the sun was in the sky once more, and time could now be properly recorded, none of the three knew how long it had taken them to get to their destination; it seemed as though they were suddenly face-to-face with an old door that gleamed white. There had been several moments in which they pondered how to open the Tomb (usually it was their King whom would do so). Magic swirled in the air, something slightly unsettling, but it was clear it was there to assist. With a rustle of air and a grinding sound, the door had opened to the room within.

It was cold. No, it was not cold; it was  _freezing._  The three shivered in the doorway. Prompto breathed out and saw puffs of white.

"Why is it so c-cold in here?" He asked, not daring to step any further inside.

Ignis answered shockingly quickly. "It is the work of Shiva."

"The Ice Queen?" Gladio pressed closer to the man without sight and also moved to warm the body of their King (though it would not matter, but the Shield liked to think that it did). "Why her?"

The Advisor answered, "He was closest to her, of all the Astrals. She appeared to him in the form of Gentiana often to converse and give advice. It makes sense that she would wish to watch over his resting place."

No one commented in the fact that Ignis hadn't spoken their King's name. None of them would, probably for a very long time.

Gladio sighed. "Well, we can't stand here forever."

He stepped forward; immediately, the chill of the room vanished, pressing against their faces as though in a kiss before the room's temperature rose.

The three stepped into the Tomb. In the middle of the room, there sat a coffin, empty and open. It's lid lay on the floor, ready to be lifted and slid into place. The wall was strange-looking, for every so often there was a rectangle or square-like shape cut from the marble, as if items were meant to be put on display there. Ignis did not have to voice his request, for Gladio had gotten so used to his blindness that his following description was born of habit: "The walls are a bit higher than they were in the other Tombs...it's all white marble, there's columns spaced out about seven feet from each other...the walls look a bit weird..."

"Weird?"

"There's shapes cut into them." Prompto answered, his eyes flickering about. "Some rectangles, some squares. The other Tombs never had those, did they?"

Gladio grunted from his place beside the lid of the coffin. "They also had their royal weapon in their hands. But the hands on this lid are different, they're not shaped like they're grasping something..."

The blonde squinted. He spotted the difference, and voiced, "The hands on this one are...placed over the King's heart."

Uneasy silence.

Now, the position of the hands might not seem as though it mattered much; perhaps it meant sentiment, or conveyed that the King had loved his Kingdom so much that he had given his heart to it, or some other metaphorical message. However, that particular kind of lid style (in which the position of hands signifies an important event) was reserved for the Oracles of Tenebrae. In the Kingdom of Lucis, all coffin lids were made the same way, _all of them_ , and the only way to distinguish any of them was the name written on the edge of the lid followed by their place in the line of rulers (for say, the coffin lid of the twelfth ruler of Lucis was inscribed as such: Queen Aeliana Lucis Caelum XII). So, with the hands in a different position after so many thousands of years of custom...was more than a little concerning.

"It could be because he's the Chosen King." The large brunette offered. His pupils traced the lid again, and again, mulling over the discrepancy.

The Advisor shook his head. "If that were so, then the first King of Lucis would have had a coffin that looked much the same. He too banished darkness and..." Ignis tilted his head downwards. "...and paid the blood price in order to do so. Yet his coffin is the same as all of the others."

_Blood price._  Prompto shuddered. He hated those two words. He'd erase them from the world forever if he could. They were such dirty words. Ugly.

_Painful._

_So much pain._

"M-maybe we'll find out w-w-why when we - when we put him i-inside." Why did his voice shake? The gunner caught sight of the body of his King. His eyes welled. Oh. Because they were to put him to rest. And they were to do it now. And they were to do it and get up and walk from the room and close the door and never go in there again.

"Indeed we shall." Ignis had improved his navigation skills a spectacular amount over the past ten years. In certain situations, though, he required someone to lead him if he was not family with the layout of a room - he reached a hand out to the air, as if waiting. "Let us finish this properly."

Gladiolus would usually be the one to go to him, but his arms were full. Prompto stepped around and quietly guided him until all three men stood around the coffin, eyes closed, the room loud with their silent thoughts.

It was strange, the blonde thought. There always seemed to be noise around: when it was late and they were running towards camp, there would be bickering and the bugs would hum and buzz and the grass would rustle beneath their boots. On a walk home from the arcade on a weeknight, there was chatter, the shifting of bags on shoulders, the rumble of traffic on the streets. Even when they had found their King, rightfully sitting upon his throne, wind had twined in their ears and whispered, there had been the screaming, so much  _screaming_ , and the  _pain_...

Noise followed them everywhere.

Not here. Not here, in one of the deepest parts of their damaged Citadel, in a room that had been sitting there for only the gods knew how long.

Here, the noise was blocked out.

All of it.

"I have to be honest." A low voice began. Prompto opened his eyes to see that Gladio had opened his own, too. The Shield was holding the body of their King securely over the coffin, nearly hovering. His fingers visibly tightened on the dark fabric. "I don't want to put him in there."

If everything remained at the rate it was going, the gunslinger was going to cry until he had no water left in him. His eyes stung, something familiar now.

"Gladio." Ignis said quietly. The brunette sniffed harshly, clinging to the fabric even more tightly. Ah, yes, there the wetness was, it was rolling down all of their cheeks.  _Are you happy, Astrals? Are you happy now?_

"Gladiolus." The blind repeated. The person in question glanced up. Ignis breathed, in, out, in. His words finally shaky after thirty two years of composure, he said, "Put Noctis in the coffin."

Those words were what did it; Gladio bowed his head, frame shaking, and slowly, ever so slowly, set the body of their King in his final place.

Light burst around the three. Each man let out a gasp, the third one's intake of breath due to the sudden cold he felt on his cheeks. Prompto's eyes widened as he watched something in the center of his King's chest pulse and glow. It looked to be a small orb of light that was growing steadily. A wind that shouldn't have been present started to whirl around them, chilly, causing their hair to lift. Noctis's body gave a jerk as the light broke free from him, and for one stupid second, the blonde hoped that his best friend was still alive, that he was alive and coming back and all he needed was for them to  _wake him up_ -

Crystalline weapons sprung from the orb, tumbling around the room, weightless and stunning. They began to spin rapidly in a circular motion, and to gather above their heads. The force of the air grew stronger. A shattering sound came about; then the weapons shot to their places. Their 'places' were the shapes cut into the wall. Each royal arm flew to its respective rectangle or square, tinkling all the way, until finally the wind died and the weapons stilled and as soon as it had started it was over.

_Over._

Prompto, shaken and pupils glazed over, stuttered, "W-What the  _fu_ -"

"No idea." Gladiolus cut him off, appearing equally as amazed. They gazed as the weapons gleamed in their spots; they had lost their crystalline luster and were solid and metal once more. When they were not being wielded by the hand of Noctis Lucis Caelum, they were intimidating enough, but when commanded by he they were downright terrifying to look upon.

Trembling, the gunner balled his hands into fists and forced himself to glance away. Reminders. They were reminders of all of the hell the group had gone through before the darkness. Every weapon spoke of power, yet not power alone. They carried memories of dungeons, of tiredness, of whining and banter and...and everything in between.

_I want to go back to the way things were before._

_I want my King back._

"It is time to say our final words to our King." Ignis said quietly. "Does anyone wish to begin first?"

Predictably, no one offered to go first. None of the three wished to say a proper goodbye (they didn't wish to say goodbye at  _all_ ) and going first made everything that much more horrible.

The Advisor to the dead King drew in a breath. "Then I will go first." He walked forwards with a hand out, until his fingers touched the edge of the coffin. Prompto and Gladiolus drew close as well, solemn, silent. The blonde wished with everything in him that Ignis would never begin. They could save this moment in time, keep it, never let it move forward. They could stall and stall and stall and final words wouldn't ever be spoken. Time doesn't work that way though, and Ignis said, with affection and pain in his accented tone:

"When I was being groomed to be the Advisor to the King, nobody had ever bothered to inform me about the person whom I would serve. They told me that I was to keep my face neutral, eyes forward, body strong and mind quick. It was no matter to them if the person whom I was to advise was rude, or if he was malicious, or if he treated me foully. It only mattered that he was the King, and I was the Advisor, and I was to know all, see all, and show all to my King, whether we got along or not."

There was a pause in his speech. Ignis's fingers sought out and rested upon black locks, carding through them absently. "But my King was not cruel. He was lazy, surely. Moody at times, especially when he didn't wish to eat his vegetables. He got up at unreasonable hours and didn't want to face his destiny." Here, his voice quavered. "But he was  _n-not_   _cruel_. H-He asked me to stop calling him Highness when he reached ten years of age, to instead address him by his first name only, for that was what people whom were close did. Several months after he himself called me his mother. I was so glad to take on the role, to fill a space that had remained empty for as long as he had lived. And then we grew older, both my King and I, and set out. We fought together, side by side, and I learned just how much he had changed from the sleepy boy I knew to a young, compassionate man, whom worried over his f-friends. Worried about  _me_. "

Prompto, for a moment, thought Ignis was not going to be able to finish. The sightless man pulled through. "Though he did not accept his fate at the start, he grew to be a fine and powerful man whom fit the role of a King better than any man I have known." Ignis stilled his hand, and stepped away. With a bow he finished, "It was an honor to stand by your side, Noctis."

He couldn't see, but that did not mean he couldn't cry. Ignis moved backwards, from the coffin, further, further, until his back bumped the wall. His intention was clear: he had bid his farewell. He could not handle hearing others bid theirs to his King. The Advisor felt for the opening of the Tomb, and went out.

Now two men remained in the room. Gladiolus decided who would go next by moving to stand where Ignis had not a moment before. He began without preamble.

"I remember when I used to hate him." His voice was gruff, rough, just like it always had been. Prompto felt a faint urge to laugh. Even now, when saying farewell to their dead King, he spoke with a tone as though he was going to give a pep talk. Or perhaps tough love. "He was young and spoilt. He was awful with weapons and he didn't want to try again after he'd lost. My dad told me all about being the Shield of the King, about how I was supposed to protect him before I protected anybody else. That included myself. At first I couldn't imagine possibly putting his life before mine...someone so pitiful and hopeless, how could they be King? I knew that the strong protected the weak, I knew that I was strong and he was weak, but he was spoiled and ignorant and I hated him."

Gladio sighed. Eye's blinking rapidly, he continued, "I forgot that the weak could grow strong, if they were taught right and they were willing. And he did get stronger. He still got knocked down in training, but he got stronger and kept at it. We became friends, and we talked more, and we chose to fulfill our duties together rather than apart. And then Noctis took me with him on a whirlwind of a trip, one he knew he wasn't going to see the end of. He said that he needed his Shield to fight beside him. And I knew that King Regis would've made me go along with him anyway...but to know that he needed me there was a comfort I wasn't expecting."

Heavily, the brunette got down on one knee and bowed, his position similar to that of a knight. "I said I would protect you, and I couldn't. I'm sorry for that, Noctis. But I'm not sorry for being tough on you." He chuckled, paused, and then sniffed. The emotion in his voice boiled over when he ended, "Your scrawny ass needed that kind of love sometimes."

The Shield stood slowly, obviously trying not to let his shoulders shake too much. Prompto wished to reach out to him, to offer comfort some way, but he knew that he couldn't. He  _couldn't_. This was a pain they were all going to feel, and nothing could make it better.

With a nod at the blonde man, Gladiolus glanced one last time at the coffin, then followed after the man without sight. Soon the room was empty save one.

Strangely it felt colder in the room once his other friends had left. The gunner sensed the temperature in the room dropping once more, though rather sluggishly. Testingly, he puffed; his breath did not appear.

It was his turn. Prompto closed his eyes and turned his head away. He, perhaps more than the Advisor and the Shield, wanted his moments in the Tomb to stretch until they lasted forevermore. After this, he would never be able to re-enter the room: it would be locked shut and the seal used to grant access melted. Nobody would ever be able to set foot in here ever again.

So why rush it if he did not have to?

The blonde opened his eyes to see the face of his best friend. The view nearly made him choke. It was just...still. Still, even now, even dead and gone and not coming back.

Still, Noctis was beautiful.

The most beautiful thing Prompto had ever seen. Thick, dark lashes rested on pale cheekbones, never to flutter. A sharp jaw was hidden beneath facial hair that framed it, so like that of King Regis that it was truly a bit frightening how alike the two looked. His lips had turned blue, drained of blood, and his mouth twitched into a half smirk no longer. Looking at him, the gunslinger could not fathom how he still was beautiful, how he still looked so powerful. How, if the flush returned to his cheeks and his lips gained back their rose color and his hair was washed and back to it's otherworldly black color, did he appear just as beautiful without any of those things?

Prompto did not understand it. He did not understand many matters of the heart.

That did not stop him from experiencing those matters, however.

The hand he laid upon his best friend's unbeating heart was surprisingly steady, as were the beginning words of his parting speech. Gazing at closed eyes, he started.

"Hey, Noct. You know I'm terrible at giving speeches, especially if they're long ones that are meant to be about serious stuff. I'm terrible at a lot of things...and I'm pretty sure you know every single one of those things. You always told me that it didn't matter to you, it didn't matter to you that I sucked at some stuff, it didn't matter to you that I...that I looked like a N-Nif." He felt the sobs bubbling. "You t-told me it d-didn't m-m-matter that I was a commoner and you w-were the P-Prince. You told me you w-were s-so...so  _happy_  that we were friends. You t-t-told...you told me..."

Prompto wanted to be done with the crying. He wanted to be done with it. At this moment, he should not have any tears left in him to cry. He did, though. Somehow, he did.

Finger trembling, he reached and traced a gentle pattern on Noctis's cheek. "You t-told me so many _t-things_...and I...I-I never told you one o-of the m-m-most important t-things I could ever tell y-you. It was that...I..." The blonde could not take it any longer. He eased himself ever so softly atop his King, and like another had before him, clutched at the dark robes. "I l-love you. So much. Y-Y-You were everything t-to me,  _everything_ , and I love you, Noctis."

He stayed there for a while, tears leaking from his swollen eyes, face buried in the uniform of his best friend. His mind raced of thoughts past: the time that they first met, the time they had received their report cards and had whooped for joy, the time it had been Prompto's birthday and there had been cake and gifts and Noctis had gotten him a new camera, the newest and most expensive on the market, and the blonde had leaped into his arms and they had hugged so tight and it had felt so good, all the times when they were on the road and Noctis would make Ignis pull over so Prompto could take pictures, the time they shared a bed and had woken with their legs tangled together, the times they'd sat bundled in the same blanket watching movies, the time Noctis held his hand throughout an entire dungeon, the time that his Prince, his best friend, his King, his everything, had said quietly to his friend whom he thought was asleep and could not hear,  _You're everything to me, Prom. I don't care where you're from, I don't care. I care about you and if you're okay and if you ate enough today and how your day was and what you did yesterday. I care about how you're handling being a part of the Crownsguard. And I care about you agreeing to go with me on this crazy trip._  Noctis had paused here to brush a strand of his blonde hair from his face.  _Just...please...please stay with me. Stay with me and be my sunshine in the dark, Prom._

_Yes, Noct, of course yes...I'll do anything if it helps you._ He had wanted to say that so badly. But he'd fallen into a dreamless sleep before he could, lulled by the feeling of fingers in his hair and low voice humming.  _Mmm...feels...so nice..._

He shook his head slightly. Memories. They were going to haunt him for the rest of his days.

_It's their fault the pain will never get out._

It was a while before Prompto knew it was time to leave. He wanted to stay here with his best friend. He recalled when he was younger being so afraid of death. Now he wished for it. For at least through death they could all have peace.

A chilly wind rustled his hair. The soothing whisper of Shiva in his ear caused a single shiver to wrack his spine.  _Death is not your destiny today, Prompto Argentum._

"I know." The gunner murmured. Yes. He knew.

Lifting himself, he cast one final glance at Noctis's face. In a moment of finality, he leaned down, and ever so gently brushed their lips together. A kiss that was to be both cherished and forgotten.

Pulling away, he said, "Goodbye, Noct. Thank you...for everything."

With the final words spoken, the blonde closed his eyes, breathed, and looked away. He walked to the open doorway of the Tomb and paused before crossing the threshold. Once more, he needed to look one more time.

He did.

Prompto forced himself to turn his back. Lacking hesitation this time, he stepped over the threshold of the Tomb of the Chosen King to embrace the balmy air of the outside. He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the tears rolling down his face, and set off to find the others.

The door sealed itself shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> This sweet baby will be updated a bit more irregularly, but once my vacation ends, this along with 'TBT' will be swiftly updated, so please stay tuned! I hope you all enjoyed (and cried because honestly I felt like it as i was writing this :'D)


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